


Holes

by Hammocker



Series: Pure Oswald/Victor Works [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Oral Sex, Season/Series 02, Vulnerability, bullet removal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor gets shot and tries to hide. Oswald is having none of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holes

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines Day, I guess. Have some Oswald/Victor. God knows we don't have enough.
> 
> This takes place during or after episode- five? I think it was five. I can't remember anymore, it's been a while, but you'll probably figure it out.

Voices screamed in Victor's head, drowning each other out. Run. Get away. Hide. Hide your weakness. Let no one see.

He was long away from his target, safely inside Oswald's manor, but his mind was still being shot at. He simply hadn't anticipated the heavy fire in the escape process. Cops didn't normally carry anything heavier than handguns. The idea of them learning unnerved Victor. They had never behaved so intelligently before. But he would prepare for facing automatic weapons next time. He would learn too. But right then, he needed a hiding place.

Trudging into one of many empty bedrooms, Victor made a beeline for the closet. He shut the door behind himself and slid down to sit on the floor, clutching at his healing wounds. Dark, quiet, easily defended. Safe. He was safe. He just needed to rest for a few hours. Then he could report in.

*****

Oswald stepped into one of the manor's many guest rooms and gazed around. Butch had reported Victor's return a few minutes ago, but apparently the assassin had thought it prudent to forego coming straight to Oswald and rushed to the nearest guestroom instead. Victor was lucky for his talent and loyalty, otherwise Oswald might have grabbed an umbrella to beat him with.

Nothing was out of sorts in the room as far as he could tell. No disturbances on the bed or of drawers, no paint scratched off of the walls. It was flatly normal, but Oswald couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t alone, a feeling that tended to accompany Victor’s presence. He was there, no doubt. Oswald’s eyes fell upon the room’s closet, its door slightly ajar. He stepped towards it and pushed it open.

Lo and behold, Victor was sat against the closet wall. He'd removed his trench coat and had it shoved against his middle. Nothing underneath, of course. His face was scrunched and he'd drawn up into himself. Each breath he took was hoarse and labored.

“Victor?” he called.

“Go away, I'm indecent,” he growled, refusing to look at Oswald.

Indecent? When had Victor garnered a concept of indecency? Insecurity had always seemed completely unknown to him. At any other time, it might have elicited Oswald's sympathy. Right then, however, it ground against his already short temper.

“You're hurt,” Oswald gritted through his teeth.

“I've had worse.”

Leaning over to allow more light to filter into the closet, Oswald spotted the patches of blood on Victor's chest and jacket. A tiny, round opening was just barely visible on his shoulder, trickling blood. What had happened hit Oswald like a bullet.

“You've been shot!”

“The coat took the worst.”

“I don't care! Get out here, you need help.”

“The bleeding is under control,” Victor insisted, shaking his head. “I'm not dying. Leave me be.”

Had Victor decided to be stubborn and prideful on any other day, Oswald would have let it be. Would have shut the door, gone and had something to drink, and waited for Victor to be ready to come out himself. Not today. Not with every other goddamn issue weighing on Oswald's conscience. He wasn't going to let Victor be another worry.

“Get the hell out of my closet or I will drag you out, throw you off of my property, and wipe my hands of you!”

Victor finally looked up at Oswald, his expression like a shark that had been chastised. Nevertheless, he got to his feet and pushed past Oswald out of the closet, cradling his coat close.

“Sit down on the bed and let me look,” Oswald ordered, shutting the closet door behind him. 

Victor did as he was told without any more resistance. He knew when to quit at least, that was good to know. Oswald came over and pressed his coat and arms out of the way so he could get a better look at the damage.

One thing was immediately clear: Victor’s trench coat _had_ saved him. A line of small holes was present, but only one was particularly deep. The rest were just notches at worst. As as Oswald reached in to touch the problem wound, Victor winced.

“That hurts?”

“Had much worse,” Victor deflected, avoiding Oswald’s eyes.

“That isn’t what I asked,” Oswald said, pressing harder against the wound. Something was lodged beneath the skin, he was sure of that much.

Victor yelped and flinched away from Oswald, giving him a sour look from the corner of his eye. It reminded Oswald of trying to aid an injured squirrel or even a child. No real understanding of intent, only of the pain he was inflicting in an effort to help.

“A bullet's stuck in your chest, isn’t it?”

“I feel it,” Victor admitted. “Resting on a nerve now.”

“I'm getting that out,” Oswald stated.

“You don't need to. It won't hurt me now.”

“Really?” Oswald said, flicking the affected area with two fingers.

Victor gritted his teeth, but he didn’t cry out that time.

“Pain makes you fight harder,” he said, shaking his head. “I'll only bleed more if it's removed.”

“We'll take care of it. I'm pulling the bullet out and that's the end of it.”

“Hrm,” was the only response Victor gave. Oswald took it as a deferral. 

“Stay,” he commanded, milder than before.

He headed out of the room and retrieved a makeshift “first aid kit.” It primarily consisted of dental tools, a scalpel or two, antibiotic cream, rags, and a pair of tweezers, but it was the best he had without calling in a private doctor. He came back to find Victor laid down on the bed, holding a defensive arm over his chest once again, but breathing more normally.

“This won't take long,” Oswald said, kneeling down over Victor and pushing his arm out of the way. 

Only then did he realize how much of an ordeal this operation was going to be. The bullet was in fairly deep and a good amount of flesh had retracted over it. He could see it glinting around Victor’s blood, but there was no way he would be able to grab it without someone holding the gash open.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need your help.”

Victor blinked at him in acknowledgement.

“Can you, perhaps, hold yourself open for me? I only need a bit of room.”

“I can,” he said.

Victor didn’t reach for any of the tools, he simply pressed four of his fingers around the opening and pulled the flesh as far as it would go without further tearing. He tensed up as he did so, but held on without fail.

“Thank you.”

With a clear path and view, Oswald picked up a scalpel. He pushed the blade between Victor’s skin and the metal first thing, dislodging it just slightly. Blood flowed freely out from the hole and he grabbed a rag to dab it away. A growl came from Victor’s throat, but he still wasn’t resisting. It made Oswald worry that Victor might tear his arm off at any second, but he needed a clear path. Once the lesion was clear, he picked up the pair of tweezers and reached in to take hold of the bullet. Then, against his better judgment, he hesitated. His grip was firm, he was in place to yank it out, but a sudden fear of harming Victor and being harmed in return held him back.

It took Victor a half a second to notice.

“Oswald. Look at me.”

Swallowing thickly, Oswald raised his head to meet Victor’s gaze. His eyes were wide in a familiar not-quite-crazed stare. He was used to seeing it when Victor was enjoying himself, but even a casual observer could have seen that he was in pain.

“Do it,” he hissed. “I can take it.”

Oswald knew he meant what he said. Victor always did. Here he was reassuring Oswald when he’d been the one to instigate the situation. It was all his fault and here he was hesitating to help. This was no time to dance around the problem. Taking a deep breath, Oswald tugged hard.

The moment the bullet came free, Oswald's ears were assaulted with a screech that would have put a banshee to shame. Victor roared for a good five seconds before stopping to catch his breath. On top of that, he was indeed bleeding once again.

Tossing the tools aside, Oswald grabbed a rag and shoved it against the newly opened wound. One of Victor's hands came up to cover Oswald's and press the cloth harder against the puncture. He was quaking a bit and his face had gone paler than normal, but he wasn’t completely freaking out so Oswald deemed the procedure a success.

“Thank you,” Victor breathed, rubbing his fingers over the back of Oswald’s hand.

“Of course,” he said, nodding clumsily. “I need you at your best.”

Rather than answer, Victor reached over and shoved Oswald off balance. His arms flailed about for a second, looking for purchase, but he ended up tumbling down onto Victor’s lap. He heard Victor cackling as he landed.

“This is no time for jokes, Victor!” Oswald barked, though, there was no bite behind his words.

“It’s always much too easy with you, Oswald.”

Oh, who was he kidding? Telling Victor not to be playful was like telling the ocean not to make waves. Not to mention that the bulge he was feeling opened up an opportunity or two.

“Too easy? You’re talking to me about too easy?” he said, reaching down to place a palm on Victor’s groin. “I don’t get off on pain.”

“It can be a useful trait in the field, if you’re willing to take advantage,” Victor said with an easy smile.

“Should I take advantage? As you are?” Oswald asked, eyeing Victor’s covered wound.

“You don’t have to ask, you know.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. No accounting for courtesy with Victor, he should have known that much.

He maneuvered himself so he was halfway off the bed, kneeling on the floor. Victor inched himself towards the edge on his own, for which Oswald was grateful. He worked down Victor’s dress pants only enough to allow his erection free. A hiss released through Victor’s teeth as he did so, but he didn’t move.

It would have been simple enough to go for a simple handjob, but Oswald really needed to not think. He needed something to really focus on. As such, he leaned in and swallowed down Victor’s cock, quick and dirty. The motion extracted a long groan from Victor.

“Sometimes I forget you’re experienced,” he said, reaching down to touch Oswald’s hair.

Oswald hummed in acknowledgement, sending a shiver through Zsasz. He kept up the suction with controlled effort, wanting to get Victor off quickly, but not too quickly. He lapped his tongue idly, avoiding any particularly sensitive areas. Victor, on the other hand, had no qualms with bucking his hips sporadically as he let loose a barrage of lust-ridden grunts and growls. He was enjoying himself, Oswald could tell that much. Maybe a little too much.

All too soon, Victor squawked a warning to his impending climax. Oswald took the opportunity to slide down so the head of Victor’s cock bumped his throat and suck hard. That did it. Victor let out a bestial roar as he shot into Oswald’s mouth.

Perhaps Oswald had been a bit overzealous, as he gagged and pulled back. Stupid reflex never had gone away entirely. Nonetheless, he swallowed down what he hadn’t ejected. And at least Victor was laughing again.

As he tucked Victor’s penis back into his pants, Victor spoke up once more, completely unfazed.

“I succeeded.”

“Hardly a point of pride,” Oswald coughed.

“I killed the man you sent me after.” 

“Oh. Yes.” Oswald had completely forgotten about why Victor had been out getting shot in the first place. “Good. Good job.”

“It should have been clean. I didn't expect the cops to be a problem.”

“The cops? The police shot you?”

“Yes. They intercepted me as I was pursuing my target.”

Oswald could scarcely believe it. The GCPD had never interfered so directly with gang activity, never. He had had his interactions with Jim Gordon in the past, but he never would have thought they’d take such a stand against the assassinations.

“I didn’t think they’d-”

Oswald stopped and glanced down at the damage done to Victor’s chest. It wasn’t bleeding anymore,despite their activity, but it could have been so much worse. He could have made it much worse.

“Since when have they carried assault weapons?” he finally asked.

“Since last night.”

He could have lost Victor. He could have lost his best hitman and the closest thing to a lover he had.

“You will wear full and proper protection from now on,” he said, hauling himself back up onto the bed and next to Victor. “What if they’d hit your face? What if it hadn’t been the police? What then? Hm?”

“Risk’s a part of the job. And I’m not dead.”

“No. You’re lucky,” Oswald conceded, his eyes turning to Victor’s coat. “What is that thing made of anyway?”

“Dense kevlar. Stops most bullets from being deadly. Very heavy.”

“How heavy?”

“Lift it.”

With no reason to protest, Oswald leaned over to do so. It felt like a normal coat as he put a hand around it, but the moment he tried to lift it off the bed, he realized exactly what Victor meant. He had to use two hands and fight gravity just to get the upper half of it to follow his movements. It had to weigh at least forty pounds, if not more. And Victor carried around guns on the thing too.

He dropped it and pulled away, flexing his hands to prevent a cramp. 

“How do you walk around in that?”

Victor gave a stilted laugh at his efforts.

“I don’t wear it out of work for a reason. But it’s good protection. Need to have it repaired again.”

“It's enough?”

“More than enough,” Victor assured him, reaching out to touch his forearm. “Don't worry about me, Oswald.”

“Don’t tell me not to worry!” he snapped. “I'm losing everything, Victor. My mother, my power, my influence, my _mind_. It's all slipping through my fingers and I won’t let you do the same.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promised, tightening his grip. “I take care of myself. Not like most things.”

“It's not my fault,” Oswald continued. “I wanted to build an empire, I wanted to do great things. But now everything is ruined because of one son of a bitch coming out of nowhere. Who the hell does he think he is?!”

Oswald curled up into himself, making an effort not to start weeping again. What was wrong with him? One minute he’s giving Victor a blowjob in perfect confidence and then those pleasant feelings were all out of the window, crumbled to ashes. When had he grown so emotional?

“How could he take my mother?” he whimpered.

“Cruelty. Envy. Ambition. Evil.” Victor hesitated before repeating, “Evil.”

“Who are we to call anyone evil? You're a professional assassin, I'm a murderer and a mobster.”

“He's evil from where I stand. That’s what’s important.”

Oswald shook his head. He was too exhausted to be contemplating things like good and evil and their own positions on such a spectrum. How Victor managed such a conclusion, he couldn’t be bothered to figure out.

“I'm so tired, Victor,” he said, collapsing on his side next to Victor. “I haven't slept in days.”

“Then sleep now.”

“You won’t go anywhere?” Oswald asked, doing his best not to whine.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. At all.”

Victor wrapped an arm around his middle and pulled him close. 

“Then we’ll rest together.”

Minding his injuries, Oswald nuzzled against Victor’s chest as he hid a smile. He had to hand it to Victor, he had a way with words and he always knew what to say. Even if he couldn’t admit it, it was nice to have someone who was willing to watch over him when he truly needed it. It was nice to not have to worry. To just let his mind stop and rest before moving on. So he did exactly that, easing himself away from from his daily worries and into the comfort that was sleep in Victor’s presence.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry to any medical professionals who may read this and want to strangle me for my depiction of bullet removal. It was the best way I could write it. But, y'know, Victor also got shot with a fucking fully automatic and walked away with no issues so we're not working with the most accurate base material here.
> 
> I debated for a long time over whether to call Victor's coat a trench coat or a duster. Still not sure if I got it right. Precision is important.
> 
> I'm just really glad to have this done, finally. It's been on the back burner for a while now with my other ten something Victor/Oswald and Victor/Edward fics. Come to think of it, I really need to finish up watching Gotham. Been meaning to do that for months.


End file.
